“No, but you should have stayed in the car,” Jolene said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Doors locked, engine running. That’s what you do.”
“You were supposed to be outside waiting for me.”
Jolene stopped. She even took a few steps toward Shelly, and I noticed how frayed her braid looked. “But you don’t want to know why I wasn’t, do you? You don’t want to know that she got drunk and tackled me to the ground when the doorbell rang, or that, before that, she tried to poison me just enough to keep me in bed for the weekend. You don’t want to know any of that, because you can’t tell my dad or his lawyer without risking the courts deciding that I’m better off living here full-time.”
Jeremy and I both swiveled our heads toward Shelly and watched her face turn several shades of red before she looked away.
“Right,” Jolene said, turning back to the apartment. “That’s why you need to be done talking to me.” She yanked open the door, and that was when she finally caught sight of Jeremy and me. To her credit, her expression didn’t change at all. She held my gaze long enough for my face and neck to flame hot, and then she went inside. A moment later, Shelly slunk in after her.
“Still feel like complaining about your life?” Jeremy asked, letting his shoulder bang into mine as he headed for the doors.
* * *
Jolene held up a finger to her lips when I opened the door to my room and found her sitting cross-legged in the middle of my bed.
I halted with my hand on the door, staring at her and trying to decide if I was hallucinating. Then the sound of Dad and Jeremy talking spurred me into motion and into the room. I pulled the door shut behind me and locked it. “What are you doing here? How did you even get in?”
She lowered her voice to match mine. “I adopted your technique for scaling balconies. Though let me just say it’s much more difficult without your height advantage. Also, wet metal is super slippery. Did you know that?”
I half shook my head. “Wait, start with the why.”
“Am I here?” She pointed to the bed she still sat on. “In your room?”
I widened my eyes in confirmation before darting them back to the door I was basically barricading with my body. If Dad or Jeremy heard her... But then, Jeremy had already heard her—we both had—down in the parking lot. When she’d said all that stuff about her mom. My gaze slid more slowly over her. I’d noticed her messy braid before, but up close I could see that strands and tangles stuck out everywhere, and one knee on her jeans was torn—and not in a way that looked deliberate. Plus, there was a scrape on her cheek. “Is that all from your mom?” I asked, unable to keep the concern from my voice.
“What?” Then she looked down at herself and half laughed. “Oh, right. No. My hair is mostly from the wind trying to fling me off the side of the building while I was climbing the railing, the scrape is from getting up close and personal with the apartment wall, and the torn jeans are from when I tumbled onto your balcony. It was all very graceful.”
I wasn’t sure I completely believed her but before I could ask anything else, a fist pounded on the door.
“Adam. Get out here. We’re going to dinner.”
I looked at the door, then back at Jolene. More pounding.
“Hey, open up. Let’s go.”
She raised her eyebrows at me, as if she was merely curious as to how I’d handle the situation of hiding a girl in my room while my dad and brother stood right outside the door. Considering that she’d risked much more than a broken leg climbing onto my balcony, the least I could do was blow off my brother.
“Can’t. I feel sick.” I stood up, took a few steps toward the door, and half turned my back to her.
“You are such a little—” The doorknob rattled as Jeremy tried to force it open. Dad asked what the problem was and the rattling stopped. “It’s fine. Adam’s sick though. We had to pull over on the way here so he could puke.”
The doorknob was tried again, easier this time. “Adam, you all right? Do you need anything?”
Jeremy answered for me. “He’s fine. He’s gonna stay here and sleep it off.”
There was a conversation that I couldn’t quite follow, but it ended with Jeremy convincing Dad that they should go and leave me to rest in quiet.
“We’ll bring you something back in case you feel better later,” Dad said. “You have my cell.” The front door opened and shut a minute later.
“You’re not really sick, are you?” she asked, eyeing me.
“No, this is my normal skin tone. I’m pale.”
“So can I hang out for a while? Not all night or anything, just until Shelly falls asleep?”
“Yeah,” I said, sitting on the foot of the bed and feeling pretty good about the fact that I’d gotten rid of Jeremy and Dad so easily. “Stay as long as you want.”
She beamed at me, and when I felt my flush start to creep back again, she took pity on me and glanced around my room. “So this is nice. It’s like the cheap motel room from a slasher flick.” Her eyebrows flicked up. “You know, cozy.”
I looked around. That seemed accurate.
“Don’t feel bad. Your apartment could be dripping with blood and I’d still find it infinitely more appealing than mine.”
“Shelly?” I asked, my gaze catching on the apple orchard picture above the bed.
“Aren’t you the smart one?”
I didn’t feel smart. I felt...compelled. My focus had strayed from her for only seconds at a time since I’d walked in. She demanded my complete attention without seeming to try. Plus she talked a lot. Sometimes her voice would get a little strangled as she ran out of air, but she’d force another sentence or two out before drawing in a massive breath and continuing. Shelly had struck me that way, too, but her nonstop talking had felt smothering. With Jolene, I didn’t mind.
She wandered around the room, looking in drawers and peeking into the closet. All my stuff was in my bag, so I let her.
“Want me to help you unpack?”
“Why?”
“Aren’t you going to unpack?”
“I hadn’t planned on it.”
Jolene dropped onto the corner of the bed. Her brown hair was so long that she was practically sitting on it. I’d never seen anyone with hair that long in real life. “You want some advice? Divorce kid to divorce kid?” She immediately raised her palms when I started to object. “Sorry, divorce kid to separated kid.” It was clear from her tone that she considered that distinction a technicality. I felt that irritation from our first meeting stir to life. “Don’t waste your energy on the small stuff.”